


Forever Falling

by Oaklin



Series: Forever Everything [65]
Category: Pro Wrestling Guerrilla, Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: (in more ways than one), (it's hard to tell with these two sometimes), (mostly not the sexual kind), (not the sexual kind), (well), Beige Prose, Canon-Typical Violence, El Generico (also) Has Massive Fucking Issues: The Fic, Jank Spanish, Kayfabe Compliant, Kevin Steen Has Massive Fucking Issues: The Fic, M/M, Mask Play?, Possessive Behavior, Purple Prose, Slapping, Swearing, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Wrestlers And Their Split Personality Disorder, but i think you get the idea, falling, i could go on, obligatory Kevin Steen warning, regular angst, stealth angst, uh sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-12-24 19:47:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12019746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oaklin/pseuds/Oaklin
Summary: He falls down, down, down...How far does this rabbit hole go?Maybe he'll never know.





	Forever Falling

**Author's Note:**

> Hello hello!
> 
> Fair warning, this one starts you off with little preamble, basically throwing you into the deep end with no setup or fanfare. I tired to work my way backwards and give it a proper start, but this one takes place in the middle of a match, and it is from Kevin's perspective, so yeah. No luck trying to force this one to make sense.
> 
> Translations;
> 
> determinar; decide, shape, define.
> 
> No un esclavo- a bad, poorly worded way to say 'We are not slaves'

The fabric of the mask crinkles under his hands as he grips **_that face_** in his fingers. Drawing in a breath, he tightens his grip and **pulls** , dragging the trembling idiot up and towards him. The action causes the foreseeable amount of panic, the face in his hands scrunching up as the other wrestler belatedly realizes what exactly is happening to him. Awakening from his dithery coma, the body in between Kevin’s fingers springs to life, muscles tensing as he strains away from Kevin’s grip.

Kevin shifts forward _-needing-_ to see the frenzied panic in **_those eyes,_** as hands come up to grip his wrists, trying to unclasp his hold on that thin fabric. Kevin doesn’t ease up though, his heart quickening as fingers scrabble at his forearms, nails digging into his skin and leaving live trails of molten sunlight across his skin, bleeding crimson to the canvas as they vie for control. Kevin staggers a step forward as the masked moron throws his weight back, letting out a wail that tears through Kevin like a lightning bolt.

Anger that he swears will be his undoing floods him, resentment and desire and furious _-need-_ all rolled into one ice-cold blast, for a horrible heartbeat. Fighting down the breathless abandon with which he desires to **end** this, Kevin leans into the movements as the shaky imitation tries to throw him off. His opponent squeals like a frightened child when Kevin looms over him, their eyes locking in a moment that almost has Kevin throwing his hands down and leaving this fucking place.

(if not for the...)

_-why **stay** -_

(where I belong)

_-here?-_

_-or with **him?** -_

(...yes)

Fire rages in those hazel depths, and something must also be burning in Kevin’s own eyes, because when the sunlight meets the night, a molten fury erupts in the sky and Kevin staggers backwards, rocked on his feet and a handprint brand across his face. He refuses to let go of the brightly colored lie though, holding on and dragging the body with him. They are both trembling now, like they are twin leaves in a hurricane, shifting with the winds of their uncertain conflict and awash with desperation to be...

_-what do you want?-_

_(nothing)_

**(everything)**

**_(forever)_ **

He can’t help himself. He can’t let go, and he can’t find it in himself to fight properly, at least not with this peculiar type of fondness rising like bile in his throat. Kevin squeezes **_that face_** , pleased with the plaintive whine he gets, and the frantic batting of limbs that follow the action. Something else draws his attention, as he constricts the fabric and skin clasped in his fingers. During the scuffle, his thumb made it part of the way under one of the eye holes. The idiot in his grasp seems to have already realized this, as he is pulling most furiously at that hand, no doubt nervous about his opponent's fingers so close to one of the most vulnerable parts of his body.

Which.

Is just...

(fuck)

**_-take-_ **

A flinch is the only response he gets when he leans back in, closing the distance between them. He watches closely as he slips his thumb further into the falsehood, the fabric rustling against his skin, singing songs of all the words they have never said to each other. Hesitating, he stops to watch the fear and panic and-

(certainty?)

(disappointment?)

(resignation?)

**_-whydoeshethinksolittleofme-_ **

“Fuck you,” Kevin bites out harshly, abruptly pulling his thumb from within the fabric. The fool squawks in surprise-

(surprise! the _hell_ does he think-)

_-never given him a **reason** to think otherwise-_

(given **_him_ ** the **most** reason)

( _ **him** _ more than _anyone_ )

(how fucking **_dare he_** )

(piece of _shit_ )

-as Kevin pulls his hands away from that face.

Only to rear back and slap the taste out of the moronic ginger bastard’s mouth.

The body goes flailing, falling to the mat and careening away from Kevin, only coming to a stop as he reaches the other side of the ring. Which Kevin is mildly grateful for, as he finds it is now easier to breath without _**those eyes**_ on him, all soulful resplendence and clumsy affection.

Peppered with sorrowful acceptance, only moments ago.

(which was...)

Kevin’s chest is tight, a clog of something that makes swallowing difficult as he stalls, unready to just walk over to the other side of the ring and attend to the ongoing match.

(fuck)

“Amigo-”

“Don’t start that shit.”

“Mi amigo...”

“I am not your friend.”

_-lies-_

(bullshit)

(never said _anything_ more **truthful** than that)

**_-lies-_ **

(fuck you)

(me)

(whatever)

(he doesn’t know what the fuck he is even asking for-)

_-like either of you know anything-_

_-at all-_

_-idiots-_

“No! Mi amigo!” the little pale moron declares, turning to face Kevin, who has yet to move from his side of the ring. Kevin just watches the other wrestler snap around, leveling a glare at Kevin and slapping at his chest -hand over his heart- as he speaks, his hazel eyes alight with fiery determination.

Kevin is not sure why the spindly dumbass is choosing this hill to die on. Why is it so important?

_-shut the fuck up-_

_- **everyone** knows why-_

(...not **everyone** )

“I don’t think that a _friend_ would slap you across the mouth after trying to- gouge your eyes out,” Kevin bites down the rest of the inane rambling that sits at the tip of his tongue, ready to humiliate him as his traitorous mouth threatens to overflow with information that no one needs to know. He clears his throat, trying to choke back the wavery neediness that has seemingly permeated his tone, the words sliding unheeded out of his mouth, tainted with a strained, hesitant lilt.

(fuck)

Not that any of his personal crises are relevant in the moment, not when faced with furious hazel eyes, glowing with the fires of defiant sunlight. Kevin barely has time to raise an eyebrow at the irate look he is getting, before his cheek is once again stinging with the resplendence of that inner illumination.

(on the same goddamn cheek, too)

“That is starting to seriously hurt, you know,” he chokes out, his voice harsh and wobbly, the burning in his skin intensifying as the heartbeats go on, like the man before him has left a path of fire across his skin.

_-marked-_

(bad idea)

_-probably-_

**Definitely.**

The Worst Of Bad Ideas.

The skinny loser completely ignores the words coming out of Kevin’s mouth, however, reaching out and clasping his own hands around Kevin’s t-shirt. Those fingers, pale and washed out in the flickering ring lights, curl in the fabric of Kevin’s shirt, jerking him forward. Towards the slighter wrestler he staggers, letting himself be pulled, for reasons that Kevin would rather not contemplate. Kevin goes reluctantly with the momentum, putting up little resistance, unable to stop himself from breathing in the crisp summer breeze floating in the air around the iridescent cunt in front of him.

(why is he _always_ so-)

(fuck)

_-everything-_

Nothing.

**_-forever-_ **

Can’t.

**(won’t)**

**_-need-_ **

Shit.

The fool almost pulls Kevin down on top of him, using the hands grasping Kevin’s shirt to haul himself upwards, very nearly dragging Kevin to the ground in the process. Kevin plants his feet, staying upright and giving himself some grounding, thankfully, because as soon as his opponent gets his legs under him, he is launching himself face first into Kevin. Their skulls crash together, the sound echoing through Kevin’s consciousness as **_those eyes_** search his, the fires within those depths making Kevin’s heartbeat roar in his ears as he fights down the **_-need-_** singing through his veins.

“NO! _El Generico_ determinar-”

Kevin reaches out with his own hands, slapping them roughly on either side of **_that face_**. The fool doesn’t move or try to fight Kevin, in fact the moron just stands there, looking sweaty and exhausted and magnificently pissed, his eyes alight with molten anger and bristling outrage. Kevin breaths the look in for a heartbeat, fighting the strong, almost irresistible urge to **_-take-_**

Kevin only gets lost for a moment (just one. just this once) in the way the little idiot just lets Kevin **touch** him.

Like **_he_ ** wants Kevin to touch.

Like this is Safe.

Like this is going to end any other way than them both in **_pieces_**.

(already in pieces)

_- **he** put you back together once-_

_- **he'd** do it **again,** if you **asked** -_

(no.)

Kevin caresses those temples, running his thumbs along the ridges and contours of the _lie_ , squinting at the furiously determined certainty under the falsehood. The moron makes no move to throw Kevin off, he just stands there, the both of them seemingly alone in the fading summer light, instead of in an abandoned flea market, the roar of the crowd having long since faded from Kevin’s ears as the song of **_his_ ** inner sunlight takes hold of the both of them.

“You don’t get to decide anything. This was all decided long ago.”

**_(godithurtstobreath)_ **

“Sometimes, I think it was decided before we even met each other. Maybe even before either of us existed,” Kevin says softly, the burn of **_those hands_** searing his chest, the warmth making it’s way through his shirt, on it’s way to set his cold black heart ablaze, no doubt. Kevin can feel the heat in his hands now, the scalding firelight coming off the ginger bastard in a steady stream now, making concentrating hard. Still, he stands there and lets it sear him, contemplating if this will finally be the time that he stands in the light long enough for it to incinerate him.

How it has always been meant to be.

_-not-_

(the light doesn’t _hurt_ so bad after a while)

_-no-_

(kinda like being wrapped in a blanket)

**_-stop-_ **

(feels sorta-)

_-get-_

(sort of feels like **h** -)

“No un esclavo,” **_that voice_** utters, sounding heartbroken to an extent that makes Kevin’s soul tremble. He gazes into those molten depths, drinking in the sorrow and the denial, even as he notes the fierce urge to fight.

Because of course **_he_ ** wants to fight. That is what they came here to do, no? Fight. Each other, the world, themselves. Always another fight, another battle, that is won or lost depending upon who you ask on any given day.

Kevin feels the weariness creep up his spine at the very thought. So tired. Of this, of **_him_** , of _Everything_. Of **Forever**. Kevin lets out a shaky breath, wondering where the human embodiment of righteous indignation in front of him gets the energy to fight for everything so fiercely all the time. Especially when he is fighting this stupid, redundant battle all over again, for what feels like the hundredth time. After all, this is a battle that has already been lost. Lost the day they first met, lost the day the idiot took the plunge, face first into the darkness, chasing after Kevin like a lost puppy.

More than that though, this particular battle was lost forever in a horrible wave of scintillating smiles and breathless panic, when Kevin-

**_-fell-_ **

(from where)

(heaven?)

Kevin snorts.

(give me a fucking break)

_-heaven is not for **you** -_

_-heaven is right in front of you-_

“We are all slaves in the end, Generico. We always were, and we probably always will be.”


End file.
